


Lemon Balm & Winter Jasmine

by junojelli



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, SanSan Russian Roulette, Sansan Russian Roulette 2018, Scent Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 13:24:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13525194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junojelli/pseuds/junojelli
Summary: When Sandor gets confronted by Sansa in King’s Landing, he gets angry and tries to come up with a very logical explanation as to why he has Sansa’s chemise in his possession, and why exactly she saw him sniffing at it.Written for Amuscaria's prompt in the Sansan Russian Roulette 2018





	Lemon Balm & Winter Jasmine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amuscaria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amuscaria/gifts), [Maroucia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maroucia/gifts).



> My very first Sansan fic! All mistakes my own. If I've done something glaringly rubbish - let me know. This fic will switch back and forth between Sandor’s and Sansa’s POV. Also, (magically) Lady Margaery is hanging around King’s Landing before the Battle of the Blackwater, because she is shopping or eyeing up steel or something. Sandor is potty-mouthed as always.
> 
> The toys and universe belong to GRRM, I’m just playing with them in the sand pit for a bit.
> 
> This is for Amuscaria and Maroucia - so sorry for the wait on this one! Hope you enjoy it!

It was another buggering hot day in the Red Keep, _hotter than the Smith’s arse,_ Sandor would wager as he walked through the narrow corridors towards the Maidenvault. At least he had pulled guard duty shadowing the Little Bird again today. Being from the North, he knew that she still found the heat of King's Landing stifling on muggy, humid days such as these, and would take solace in the Godswood. It was perfect for him, he could just sit and watch her flit about the trees like the little bird that she was. She had taken to wearing her shorter sleeved dresses in this weather. They weren't as revealing as Lady Margaery’s outfits (which were barely more than what the whores in Baelish’s brothels wore, in his frank opinion) but left her forearms exposed. The gowns were still far too small for her growing frame, leaving her breasts pushed indecently high by her corset. He could look at her slender ivory wrists all day, thinking about holding them up above her head with one large hand as he used his other hand to hitch up her skirts as he licked and bit into her teats-

He was smacked out of his morning’s musings by a small chambermaid who collided with him as he rounded the corner. An explosion of linen and clothing surrounded her, as she bounced straight off his breastplate and scuttled backwards on to her arse on the floor.

‘WATCH WHERE YOU ARE GOING, GIRL,’ he growled, irritated by the girl’s horrified expression, gawping up at him and his scars. _Bloody cunt._

‘I beg your pardon, Ser, I did'n' mean to hit you. I did'n’ see you! I’m sorry, Ser, I swear!’ the shrew-like girl gabbled, quickly righting herself and grabbing the wayward items of linen that she had been carrying just a moment ago.

‘A bit fucking inconspicuous, am I? And I’m not a fucking Ser- ‘

‘-Yes, yes, 'course milord! I’m sorry!’

The girl quickly gathered up the last few pieces of laundry and scurried off, without making eye contact with him again. He watched her run off down the hall, as if she were running from the Stranger himself. He turned back round on his course towards the Little Bird’s chambers, when he noticed an errant piece of cloth lying in the corner of the hallway.

 _Bloody idiot girl_. She’d obviously forgotten to check she had everything when trying to escape him. He picked up the dainty, flimsy piece of fabric, noticing blue ribbons at the top, and small blue flowers along a neckline. _A shift_. As he inspected it closer, noting how sheer and delicate it was, it struck him whom it belonged to. It’s _her_ shift. _Little Bird_. After all, the maid had been coming from the direction of chambers. Unable to fully feel the softness of the fabric between his rough fingers, he brushed it against his good cheek. _Like silk_. He became aware of the light scent clinging to the fabric, a soft citrus scent, but intermingled with something indescribable. A faint smell of sweat, but something more. _Her scent_.

Lost in the heady aroma of the shift, he was startlingly brought back to the present by the sound of a door opening and footsteps further down the hall. Without thinking, he scrunched the flimsy cloth into a ball and stuffed it under his pauldron, and continued on to shadow his charge for the day.

*****

It was a stifling hot day in Kings Landing, as hot as Mikken’s forge back home in Winterfell, yet _sticky_. Sansa hated this weather, it left her shifts drenched with sweat by the time she took off her gown for the evening, which was most unbecoming of a lady. Time ago, she would have been distraught that her own body would _sweat_ of all things, but after all that had happened in the recent months, she couldn’t find herself to care all that much. Although, she couldn’t bring herself to display her flesh or go without a shift as Lady Margaery did, she supposed some of her sensibilities instilled into her by Mother and her Septa would die hard with her as she melted away in the south.

Wanting some peace away from the court, she had decided as she awoke that she would retreat to the Godswood to pray, and have some peace and respite from her King, the Castle, the heat and her current reality. Shae had given her sweat drenched summer shift to the chambermaid this morning, so she was having to make do with one of her mild weather shifts which had shorter, cap sleeves. She had shortened some of the sleeves of her summer gowns to make them more bearable in the heat. They were still far too small though, and she would have to summon the courage to ask the Queen if she could have some new gowns made for her. Perhaps she would ask Margaery to intercede for her, although heavens know what Margaery would have the seamstresses make for her.

Walking into the dappled shade beneath the great oak and pine trees, she could close her eyes and pretend she was somewhere else. It was far warmer than Winterfell ever got in the height of summer, but perhaps she could be in…Riverrun? Mother had always talked about running in the woods around her birthplace in the summertime as a girl.

The ever present gentle clanking of armour and crackle of twigs and pinecones being crushed underfoot by her steel-clad shadow brought her out of her escapism. Wherever she went she was watched and spied upon. Today, her shadow was the Hound. _Sandor Clegane_. After the bread riots, she felt safe in his presence, yet ever uneasy. She could feel his eyes upon her, watching her as she walked. They bore a hole through he dresses, and sometimes the way he looked at her made her feel that her clothes had fallen off her without her noticing. Such times left her feeling hot and flustered, a strange ache growing in her body that was thoroughly indecent, leaving her breathless. It had to be the heat, she never felt like this back home, not even when Theon would steal kisses from her behind the armoury when Robb and Jon were out of sight.

Finding a long dead tree stump near the heart tree (only an oak, but a magnificent one), she fanned out her skirts, closed her eyes and began to pray. Her shadow stopped several paces behind her, and seemingly leaned up against a tree.

****

The Little Bird found her perch for the moment, thankfully in the shade so he wouldn’t cook in his armour, like her poor Grandfather had. _Poor cunt. What a way to go, second only to being burned alive._

She sat so still, back straight and shoulders relaxed like her septa taught her. The gentle breeze stirred her hair, sending that same soft citrus scent towards him. He pulled out the scrunched-up fabric quietly from his pauldron. The Little Bird hadn’t moved a muscle, head slightly bowed, eyes closed he presumed. He turned slightly from her view, lest she turn around to look at him, and quietly lifted the fabric to his nose and sniffed. _Gods_. Smelt like heaven. He continued to inhale the scent of the fabric he held up to his nose. _Smells like…lemons? Verbena?_ There was something light and floral to the scent that he couldn’t make out. He closed his eyes and inhaled further. There was a musky scent underneath it all. _That must be her._ He inhaled again, eyes closed, feeling a soft, calming feeling come over him.

****

The gentle breeze on her neck was heavenly, cooling the sweat on her damp neck. She should have asked Shae to put it up in a braid off her neck. Eyes still closed, she smelt the late summer breeze as it blew through the woods. _Earthy, woody. Like home, but not as damp and musty._ She heard the faint sound of someone else inhaling. _The Hound must be enjoying the breeze too_. She thought about how he must be sweltering in his armour on a day like this. He was probably hotter than she was. _Perhaps we could get a cool drink and move to the gardens._ With a breeze like this, a soft spray would come off the fountains and be lovely and cooling, especially for him. That would be a nice, polite thing to do, to look out for him. Like he did for her in the bread riots.

She opened her eyes and turned to speak to him to let him know she had finished praying.

He was slightly hunched over, partially turned from her view, his scars facing towards her with a ball of fine fabric pushed up to his face. His eyes were closed and he looked…. peaceful. More content than she had ever seen him. He adjusted the wodge of fabric, and inhaled it deeply. Slightly odd behaviour, but it seemed the Hound was finding great peace from smelling whatever he had in his hands. _Was it… smelling salts? Or something similar? Perhaps he is feeling faint from the heat_ … She quickly dismissed the idea as ridiculous. The Hound would NOT be feeling faint from the heat; besides, he was used to the climate here in the south. He readjusted the fabric again, and a small blue ribbon dropped down the fabric. Like strap. _Like a familiar strap._ She looked closer – she could see… _small blue winter roses?_ The Hound was smelling…. _her shift_?!

*****

Drowning in the stillness of the trees surrounding him and the soothing scent of the Little Bird’s shift, he didn’t break out of his reverie as quickly as he should have when he heard her voice. He was in his thoughts so deeply; her voice must have been one his many daydreams about her.

‘…. Ser…’

‘Not a Ser,’ he muttered quietly, brushing the fabric against his good cheek, eyes still closed. _Soft. Just like her._

‘…my Lord- ‘

‘not a Lord either, my Little Bird’

‘…CLEGANE.’

Her stern address made him freeze, his eyes shooting open. She never called him that in his dreams. She called him by his name. He could see from his peripheral vision that she had turned around on her tree stump, and was looking directly at him.

_Shit._

*****

The Hound froze, her shift still in his hands, near his face. _Should I pretend I haven’t seen it? What in the Seven is he doing? It’s my only summer shift!_

‘…Is…is that my shift?’ she cautiously asked, voice small and quiet.

‘…. No.’

‘I beg your pardon… but _I think_ it is.’

His hand holding the shift dropped from his face, his face turned sharply towards her, his eyes hardening and his mouth turning into a grimace, the corner of his lips twitching. He looked positively fierce.

‘And what makes you think that I would have your shift, _girl?_ It’s not yours.’ he snarled, stuffing the shift back in his armour.

Intimidated, Sansa shrunk back. She swallowed, looking down at her hands. _That’s my shift! It’s my last summer one from home!_ She would be damned if she would lose another piece of Winterfell down here in King’s Landing.

‘Well then… whose is it? It looks just like mine…’ she said, looking back up at him, holding her hands fast together so he wouldn’t guess how nervous she was. _He hates it when I’m nervous_.

His slate grey eyes stared her down, before a predatory gleam took a hold of them. He smirked, contorting his scars into a gruesome grimace, teeth slightly bared.

‘It belongs to some girl I fucked last night. She left it in my bed.’

His heated eyes locked on her, nostrils flared. He drank in her shocked expression at is coarse words, half goading her into a reaction.

Sansa’s face felt hot, she was likely beet-red at his foul language and insinuation. _Why on earth would he say that to me?! I don’t want to know whom he has been…. with._ She wouldn’t demean herself to demand it back off him, not after he had been _smelling_ it. No, she’d have to out-fox him like she used to have to do with Theon.

‘…Did she forget to dress herself when she left?’

‘Might have,’ he grinned at her, waggling his good eyebrow.

She felt even more flustered. A sour taste rose to her mouth, making her wrinkle her nose. An image bounded into her mind of him bedding some maid in his bed. She couldn’t tell why, but the thought pissed her off, and making it feel like she had swallowed a handful of river gravel.

*****

The Little Bird wrinkled her nose, pursed her lips as she looked at him. _She’s far too much fun to tease_. She lifted her head imperiously, as if to look down her nose at him, although he still towered over her. He wasn’t about to relinquish his prize, if even to it’s rightful owner. He couldn’t back down now.

‘Well…. Then why were you SMELLING it? That’s disgusting.’ She flicked her hair around as she turned her head away, crossing her arms defensively but managing to push forward her ample teats even more invitingly. What he would give to lick and bite them.

‘She was a good fuck. The smell brings back memories. Smells like her bath soap.’

Her head shot back to glare at him, her lips pouting temptingly at him. He was enjoying this little game, he forever enjoyed ruffling her feathers and making her blush. He wondered how far down the blush went on her nubile form. He pushed off the tree he had been leaning against and slowly stalked over to where she was sitting, her eyes widening as he approached and holding his own gaze. He started to finger the silky fabric with his hand, pulling some of it out from its hiding place.

‘Do _you_ want to smell it, my lady?’ he grinned at her. For dramatic effect, he leant in to smell it again, his eyes still locked on her. He grinned manically down at her, knowing it would twist his scars more than usual.

She gulped looking up at him, her hands now wringing the fabric of her skirts.

‘Might be you could tell me what soap she uses. If it’s her soap that I’m smelling…’ he continued, pulling the fabric from it’s hiding place.

Very slowly, she stilled her hands and gracefully stood up from her perch, taking a small step towards him. His heart quickened. He was pushing her too far, he knew it. He just enjoyed these little interactions with her. _She wouldn’t take the bait, she didn’t have it in her._

‘Go on, then. Pass it here.’

_Fuck._

*****

His fist tightened in the fabric which had now been pulled clear from his armour. She watched the apple of his thick throat bob as he swallowed, his eyes never leaving her as if he were some hunting dog stalking a hare.

The bad corner of his lips twitched as he quietly muttered to her, ‘As you wish, _my lady_ ’. He gently brought the fabric forward, his large paw fisted in it. She took another step closer to him, so close that she almost had to look directly up at him. Her hands rose from her sides to grab the fabric that he still held firmly, refusing to surrender it. He kept her locked in his stare for several moments in complete silence. Only the gentle breeze through the Godswood and the creak and rustle of dead leaves could be heard. Finger by finger he released the shift, still looking at her. She brought it up to her nose as if to smell it (she wouldn’t in front of him, because that was _vulgar_ ).

‘It’s lemon balm and winter jasmine.’

He continued to stare at her, not moving a muscle.

‘Is it now?’ he muttered.

She felt butterflies in her stomach, and found it hard to breathe. That tell-tale ache grew deep within her, making her legs feel a little wobbly.

‘Yes. And I knew it was mine.’ She replied quietly, slowly lowering her eyes and gripping tightly to the scrunched-up fabric. She turned slightly to shake it out, and gently fold it in half, and half again over her arm. She could take it back up to her room and just get Shae to rinse it in a bowl overnight.

‘How so?’ came the reply from where Sandor stood as tall as the sentinel trees surrounding them. She turned slightly to look at him. He wore an odd expression on his face. He appeared calm again, the soft expression in his eyes that he wore before when she saw him with the shift in the first place. The butterflies fluttered harder, now rising up into her chest.

‘…. Because, I-… I wear lemon balm and winter jasmine perfume. It’s from home.’

She was unable to stand the tension growing between them any further. She couldn’t bear to look at him a minute further, the heat of her blush fanning her cheeks. He stood as still as a statue, looking intently down at her face. He stepped in closer to her, his eyes now drifting down to her lips, as if he were about to kiss her. She gulped again, looking now at his lips in turn. _Would the scarred part be soft or rough against my lips? Would his stubble scratch me?_

‘You should be careful not to lose your undergarments, Little Bird. There’s no knowing who might end up with them,’ he eventually replied, fingering a wayward piece of her hair, putting it over her shoulder.

Her chest felt on fire, she couldn’t breathe as she looked at him, and he at her. Feeling that if she didn’t move now that the growing, needy ache within her would render her lame, she turned and loped away from him in the direction of the castle. She was a coward, but she knew the Hound would give chase to her. He always did. As sure as the rising sun, she heard the rhythmic clink of her shadow’s armour as he followed her out of the Godswood and back to her rooms.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment if you like!


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